


Carrara

by viceroyvonmutini



Category: Ghostbusters (2016)
Genre: F/F, nope i just keep writing fluff apparently
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-29
Updated: 2016-08-29
Packaged: 2018-08-11 19:12:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7904344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/viceroyvonmutini/pseuds/viceroyvonmutini
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's this quality about her: smooth and strong, and kind of like that marble they used for Emperors.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Carrara

**Author's Note:**

> prompt from victoriancuddler: what about a fic in which we see Holtzman's thought process when she meets Erin :D
> 
> Hey look. I finally did something someone asked for! Sort of. I pulled it out a little. Milked it, I think is the phrase.
> 
> Story time: the first line came while I was listening (dancing) to a very funky 80s tune that shall go unnamed, and I blitzed out this. Amazing how inspiring Starship can be.

She catches her eye like the sun might glisten against marble. A marble veil: wafer-thin and almost alive with the details of her skin, because she’s fragile, but there’s permanence in her bones that cannot be ignored.

Maybe it’s the way she stares at Abby, or the way she believes in her words – tries to believe in them with all her being – but she has a resilience that makes her marble. Maybe it’s the stories Abby’s told over wonton soup and Pringles: underneath the lingering resentment, a respect for a girl ridiculed but still believing in what she knew was true. There’s strength in that, Holtz knows, that maybe she doesn’t even realize she has.

Because she’s clutching her briefcase so tight Holtz can hear the leather crack in her grip all the way from where she’s sat; and because there’s uncertainty clinging to her like a humid day, all oppressive and insurmountable. And Holtz knows that Abby was right: they’ll never get on, because she’s all pristine, and marble, and stiff, and jaw-droppingly complex, and Holtz is just a machine.

‘Come here often?’

* * *

 

Erin Gilbert is scared of her. Unsure. Hasn’t quite figured out where she stands with Abby and Holtz and their little operation. Erin Gilbert is unsure about many things, but not about ghosts. Sat in their lab with her bowties, and tweed, and distinct lack of a job as of an hour ago, Holtz knows she never gave up on ghosts. Not really. There was something deep under Erin Gilbert’s sculpted figure that knew she wasn’t lying all those years ago: sturdy, thinks Holtz, where she is fickle.

Holtz admires her. Admires Erin Gilbert, because Erin Gilbert sacrificed everything just to be normal, and there’s something to admire in that, thinks Holtz: something to recognize in that struggle that she doesn’t want to do a disservice.

But Erin Gilbert is unsure of her, and Holtz sort of likes that, because she is a machine, and she is electric.

‘-ecto-projected all over you.’

Erin looks at her, and Holtz knows they grate together like ill-fitting cogs, and Erin is unsure about her.

 

* * *

 

Of course, Holtz thinks Erin Gilbert is an idiot.

Not in Math, or Physics, or basic common sense, and not that this means Holtz doesn’t respect her immensely - because she does - but Erin Gilbert was a clueless idiot when it came to herself. And Holtz found it endearing – to a point – watching Erin Gilbert try to figure herself out like a child in the world for the first time, carving out a new form. This buttoned-up-breeches of a person, and Holtz found her endearing.

Also, a challenge. A task. Because Erin Gilbert was an idiot and Holtz wanted to help, because Erin Gilbert was smart and she needed to know this. Because Erin Gilbert gave up everything to be normal, and to find a confidence in herself through the validation of others, and that was stupid, because every 5 year old knows you can only build a wooden-block-pyramid with a strong base to hold it up.

Erin walked into their lab that first day about to collapse, all heavy on the outside and shaking underneath. Holtz wanted to help her out. Want to show her herself, and how to be herself, and take pride in herself even if Holtz wasn’t all that good at it either. Holtz wanted Erin Gilbert to be happy.

‘Sorry to DeBarge in.’

 

* * *

 

Holtz liked to think that they were becoming friends, though she didn’t really know with Erin. There was still a wariness towards her that Holtz understood, but didn’t like. She really was a genius. She did know what she was doing.

Admittedly, the failure of the Proton Gun in the subway was unforeseen, but that equipment had been untested, as she had stated repeatedly, and they all got out alive, so that was a win-win situation all round by her count.

Still, it niggled at Holtz. Erin didn’t trust her. And she had every right not to: the woman had almost died because of one of her creations.

Holtz had never fixed anything so fast in her life. She hadn’t slept in two days, and the Red Bull charging through her system was running havoc on her intestines, but more importantly the guns were definitely working, more portable and safer, and she had developed some sidearm blueprints into living, breathing weapons and she was a scientist. A machine.

‘Erin, you’ve had the worst day; first pick is yours.’

 

* * *

 

Jillian Holtzmann had a tendency to emotionally attach herself to things. She cared. A lot. Too much, maybe. More than she let on. She named her tools and her machines. She liked cats, and doted on her two kittens like they were pharaohs. She would rip the world apart to make a friend happy.

Erin Gilbert was no exception to this. Or maybe she was. An anomaly at least. Holtz was never very good at traditional words – she’d never got on with sonnets – but she could try. She could do that. She could listen, too. She could extrapolate data and she could try her best to make Erin hear her.

‘I have some questions.’

 

* * *

 

Holtz always knew there was a permanence to Erin. She had meant it in the context of ideas, that unshakable belief in physics and what she knew, but Holtz had been wrong in that assessment. She knew that now. Erin Gilbert was as immovable as a tree. The root of a tree growing in Jillian Holtzmann’s mind until she had to go and name the little sapling and get attached to it and let it grow to overshadow everything else in her mind and so now there was no way to pull it from her mind without cutting it down, and Jillian Holtzmann couldn’t bear to do that.

That was Erin Gilbert.

Jillian Holtzmann knew this would never work, because she was a machine and Erin Gilbert was exquisite: a marble sculpture of breathtaking skill.

That didn’t stop her monumental crush from growing further. Didn’t stop her caring. Didn’t stop her watching, analyzing, dreaming; aching to make Erin Gilbert happy. It didn’t stop her heart from cracking as Erin Gilbert recklessly jumped into a portal that led straight to Death-with-a-capital-D.

‘The year is 2040. Our President is a plant.’

She shouldn’t have worried. Erin was marble. Timeless.

 

* * *

 

Erin Gilbert was holding her hand, stroking the back of it lightly with her thumb. This was new. 24 hours new.

They lay on top of her covers, a million words already said and so many, many more to come, but Holtz didn’t care about any of that because Erin Gilbert was stroking the back of her hand lightly with her thumb.

‘This is so surreal.’

Erin hummed. Holtz thought it was the most adorable sound in the world.

‘Why?’

‘Because.’

Erin kept stroking. Patient. She always was with her. Holtz wasn’t the best with sonnets, but she would try for Erin, and Erin would wait for her.

‘Because it’s you.’ Erin turned her head against the pillow to look at Holtz. ‘You should date the Mayor.’

‘Ew. Holtz don’t joke about that. Seriously gross.’

‘He has his charms.’

‘Name one.’

‘He’s the Mayor? You should be dating him. The Business Type and stuff.’

‘I’m not…dating the Mayor because you think I should, Holtz. I wanna…I want to date you.’

Holtz couldn’t suppress her smile. ‘Are ya sure?’

Erin propped herself up on an elbow until she was looking down over Holtz and Holtz had no choice but to look at her, watching the way Erin’s shirt rumpled at the collar as her hair fell like a curtain around her face.

‘Nope.’

She pecked Holtz on the cheek, and Holtz grinned wider. ‘My face hurts,’ she said, not breaking eye contact.

‘You look nice when you smile.’

‘I look nice all the time,’ asserted Holtz. She reached out a hand and gently prodded Erin’s cheek, watching it squish slightly and wondering why all of a sudden this was more important than anything in the world. Nothing was more important than prodding Erin Gilbert’s cheek.

‘Marble,’ she observed lightly, like her great hypothesis finally had empirical evidence and all was well with the world because of it. Which was, technically speaking, true.

‘I’m going to pretend I know what you’re talking about Holtz.’

‘Gotta keep some of my mystery, Gilbert.’

‘We should go to sleep. We’ve been up a while.’

‘I’m too happy to sleep.’

Erin looked away, and Holtz knew she was blushing.

‘Me too,’ murmured Erin, just loud enough for Holtz to hear. She lay back down beside Holtz and retook her hand, both of them staring up at the ceiling. She would lie like this forever if she could: fully clothed on a mattress two inches off the floor of her lab, with Erin Gilbert breathing beside her. She was exhausted. She didn’t care. She couldn’t stop smiling.

Erin Gilbert was like marble. The most beautiful, indescribable marble Holtz had ever seen. And she was just a machine. Tangled wires and dangerous sparks.

They were both art, though. And Erin thought Holtz was the most beautiful, indescribable machine she had ever seen, even if Holtz didn’t know it herself.


End file.
